


With Love, Galore

by LadyPug



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon), DuckTales
Genre: Brief Sexual Content, Double O Duck, F/F, F/M, Language, Multi, Spy - Freeform, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 22:24:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyPug/pseuds/LadyPug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tale of a FOWL agent living, loving, and trying to stay alive. Set before the events of Double O Duck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Love, Galore

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Duck Tales or any of its associated characters. They all belong to Disney.

Orphaned children and runaways had it rough in the Soviet Union. She belonged to the latter group, having decided early on that she wanted nothing to do with her parents, both of whom were alcoholics. She spent most of her childhood running the streets, going to school, and returning to her parents' home only when she was sure they were either out or passed out. At fifteen, she had decided to leave the home for good and lived with a boyfriend and his mother. But after the very unfortunate death of her boyfriend, she was kicked out. Her home was the streets of Kazan now. She was sixteen, and she saw continuing her education at school a pointless endeavor. She once thought it would be a key to a better life, but she found many of the subjects boring, and there was simply no time for school when survival was top priority. But she didn't need school, and she didn't want school now.

She was going to do what SHE wanted, and nobody was going to stop her. Throughout her young life of running the streets, she had learned a lot of things. Important things… not like what you learned in school. She learned how to fight, steal, shoplift, she learned how to make connections without actually joining up with one of those silly little gangs other children and adolescents ran around with… at some point, she had learned some English by spending time with a Christian missionary she did not like but found useful… she was not fluent in it by any means, and she couldn't quite grasp writing it, but she could speak it, listen to it, and read it. It would be useful one day… for when she would go to America. She would find a way somehow. Americans had a lot of interesting things like stylish clothes and great music. And American culture was so criticized and hated by the adults that she figured it must have been quite special.

For now, though, she survived. She did not know that she had managed to draw attention to herself. She did not know that for the past year, she had been watched… closely. She did not know that information was being collected about her, bit by bit. So, it came to a surprise when a black car, the blackest black she had ever seen, drove up to her alley, and a man in a suit stepped out. He was a hawk with brown and white feathers and golden-colored eyes. She was drawn to those eyes almost immediately because they reminded her of the eyes of her former boyfriend, but she did not dwell on this fact for long. She knew very well that people were dangerous, especially adults. Especially to her… alone and on her own. She gave the man a wary look.

"I've come alone," the man told her, as though trying to assure her. He had an accent she did not recognize, but he spoke perfect Russian.

The red-headed teenager gave the briefest of glances towards the car and saw that the man was telling the truth, but she narrowed her eyes at him, anyway. "Even one person can be dangerous." It was not only a counter to what the man said but also a threat. She was one person, after all.

"Yes," the man replied in acknowledgement. "But I'm sure it is much less threatening talking to one person than to more, especially for someone in your position. I'm here to make you an offer."

The teenager tensed and shot him a glare. "I'm not interested." She stood her ground and watched him with even more alertness. "I killed the last pimp who tried to make me an offer, and I fought off his men. By myself. I have fought men bigger than you." She pulled up the twine that was around her neck and hidden in her shirt. A decaying ear was hooked on it. "The last man was huge; I fought him. I cut off his ear. I can do worse."

The man didn't seem impressed. He listened to her quite stone-faced, then an amused smirk played on his beak after she had finished.

"You were lucky with that pimp and his men. You killed him quite by accident, and the others were so dumbfounded by it that you were able to make your escape. The ear…" He nodded towards it. "You cut off a dead homeless person. I'm sure those who do not know that bit of information still back down from threatening you when you reveal it to them. You're clever."

The teenager listened to him, her eyes widening very slightly. She gaped for only a minute before settling back into the glare. "You've been watching me."

"Yes. We've been watching you with some interest for quite some time. You're different than the other juvenile crooks in this city… tougher, smarter, better. None of them have gotten away with quite as much as you have; you've been noticed. Rest assured, we have no interest in turning you into a prostitute. That would be a waste of your potential." He smiled more amiably this time.

The teenager was not assured in the slightest. People were untrustworthy along with being dangerous. "Who are you? Are you with the Mafia? I won't work for them. They killed my boyfriend."

The man laughed, which startled her. Her hand slid towards her pocket. The startled expression had been replaced with something resembling a neutral one. Features of anger were still present.

"Dear girl, I represent an organization that doesn't like the current Russian Mafia anymore than you do. They are in our way, but we pose more of a threat to them than they do to us. We offer more than they ever could." He took a step towards her.

The teenager had quick reflexes; he didn't even have time to blink before a gun was pointed at him. He slowly held up his hands but the smile remained. He didn't seem surprised to see that she possessed a gun; he or someone working for him must have seen her steal it.

"You're holding it wrong," he told her.

She didn't show much of a reaction to this statement. The gun stayed pointed at him. "It doesn't matter. The barrel is pointed towards you. The gun is fully loaded. It will be easy to pull the trigger, and if the first bullet does not hit you, then I will keep shooting until you are dead."

The friendly smile in his beak remained. "You will do well in our organization, I can tell. I am known in the organization as Gentlewing. I am trying to recruit you to become a member of FOWL: the Foreign Organization for World Larceny."

The teenager's confusion became apparent. She had never heard of this "organization" before, and she usually tried to keep knowledgeable about the world of crime. Or at least, the world of crime as it related to her country. "I am called many things," she told him in a manner meant to introduce herself, "All of them bad with the exception of references to my beauty."

"I already know your name," Gentlewing said.

The teenager narrowed her eyes once more. "The name you know is not mine. I use all the names, but they do not matter, especially not that one." She still had the gun trained on him. "Tell me about your organization, if it exists."

"Fair enough," Gentlewing said. And he told her about FOWL, a global terrorist organization that specialized in many things, one of them being espionage, which was what they wanted to train her in. He told her about all the benefits that she would get to see the world, including America, just like she wanted. She would get paid… a small amount, at first, but enough for her to live and eat on a regular basis. Enough for her to actually buy prettier clothes. She could move up in ranks and get paid more. Top-ranked agents live in luxury with everything anyone could possibly want and more. He told her her work would be challenging; she would probably never be bored. She would be trained to be a lethal weapon, she would be given lethal weapons, she would be trained in deception, infiltration, and so many other things.

The teenager listened to him with interest, hesitated, then her expression hardened. Her grip on her gun tightened. "Do you take me for a fool? I know this little routine. You promise young, stupid girls everything they want, promise to take them away from this place, promise them a better life. That's how you lure them in, and take them to places worse than this, and train them to be nothing more than sex slaves. My body is my own; I will give it to whoever I please or I won't. Nobody is going to take that away from me, especially not some rich clown in a suit."

The smile on Gentlewing's face vanished in an instant. It was replaced with a look of absolute seriousness… and something cold. "I understand your caution, but you have been watched. I know that you take risks that you probably shouldn't… risks that could get you killed, I know you slip into places like a thief in the night, I know you make impossible bluffs, I know you take whatever you can get from anybody regardless of the consequences if you're caught. And yet…"

His eyes narrowed. "Here you are. Struggling, fighting, hungry, cold… The only thing I can really promise is that FOWL can give you more control over your life, more direction, and so long as you don't spend your very first paychecks on frivolous things instead of food or shelter… You won't have to worry about being cold or hungry again. Tell me, girl, how long do you think you can survive in your current position?"

The teenager started to say something, but Gentlewing cut her off before she could. "How long will it be before you get seriously hurt in a fight or doing one of your dangerous acrobatic stunts? How long will it be before another pimp comes along, and you won't be so lucky? How long will it be before you make a mistake, you slip up, and you're killed? I would say my offer is a risk not only worth taking, but a risk you can't afford to not take."

The teenager did not try to say anything this time; she was silent, lost in thought. Her arm did not tire or waver, though. The gun remained still pointed at the hawk.

"There's something you're not telling me. What you're telling me is too good to be true. There are downsides, and you know them. Tell me or I'll reject your offer and shoot you where you stand."

"You can never leave," Gentlewing said quickly but in a firm, unwavering tone.

The teenager blinked in surprise. "What?"

"Once you get involved with FOWL, you can never leave. Also, the constant threat of death hanging over your head, the suspicions about the intentions of others, the struggling… That won't change. If you betray FOWL, you die. If you fail too much or too spectacularly, you die. If you're not careful in your dealings with others, FOWL or not… you die. And if you disobey FOWL's orders, you die."

The teenager lapsed into silence again. Minutes ticked by. Then, she started walking towards Gentlewing. He remained stone-faced.

She held out her free hand. "I will go with you but only if I get to drive the car. Tell me where to go. If I do not like what I see, I will put a bullet in your head and escape."

"But if you do like what you see?" Gentlewing watched her carefully.

"If I like what I see, I will happily join your organization." She made a motion with her free hand to indicate that she would like the keys right then. Gentlewing reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys.

"I don't remember you having the ability to drive in the information I've received," he said.

The teenager snatched the keys out of his hand and entered the driver's side of the car. "I am a quick learner."

Somehow, they made it safely to a FOWL base halfway across the country. And the teenager liked what she saw.


End file.
